The Aftermath
by gomababe
Summary: A sort of Sequel to 'Scotland's Loss', fairly fluffy and involves France/Scotland and England/Portugal. Full summary in Author's Notes


A/N: This fic takes place about a week after 'Scotland's Loss'. After the failure of the Darien Scheme, Scotland was pretty much bankrupt and in very bad financial straits. The economic collapse that followed lead to the Acts of Union in 1707. I can't imagine that Scotland, as a personification, would be in any fit sate to be doing much of anything. Especially since it looks like recessions tend to cause colds in the Hetalia universe so a full economic collapse... yay pneumonia.

...

France pushed the door to the large manor house warily,

"L'Ecosse?" he called, "_Mon ami _are you 'ome?" he had only just heard about what had happened earlier in the week and had immediately rushed over to see his best friend to check up on him. When he received no response France started to walk through the corridor. He was getting more worried by the minute, Scotland's financial situation had been bad enough before, but the failure of his only colony... France shuddered to think exactly how badly off his former lover might be. He poked his head into the kitchen hopefully,

"Ecosse?" he called again, frowning when he again received no response at all. For a brief moment France thought he could hear something like a bell nearby, but it was gone as quickly as it had happened. France frowned in the general direction he thought the sound had come from but didn't see anything. Shaking his head, the blonde haired nation walked through to the living room and froze. Scotland was indeed at home, but he was slumped in a chair next to the fire, the fire having burnt itself out a while ago from the ashes in the fireplace. He approached the figure hesitantly,

"E...Ecosse?" he called again, looking around the floor for any signs that the Scottish man had just fallen asleep in front of the fireplace earlier in the day. When France reached Scotland's side he went to give the other nation a gentle shake on the shoulder, but stopped the moment he saw the other's face. Scotland had always been pale, something France teased the Celtic nation about endlessly, but right now he looked chalk white and his lips were touched with a tinge of blue around the edges. Swallowing hard France gave Scotland a firm shake on the shoulder,

"Ecosse... L'Ecosse. _Mon amour_ please wake up." He pleaded. After what seemed like forever Scotland finally stirred with a groan

"F...Fran...cis?" he wheezed, sliding his eyes open a fraction, "Wh...whit are...ye dae...daein'... here?" he finally managed to force out. France sighed shakily in relief, at least the other man was alive. He stroked at Scotland's face,

"I 'ad 'eard about what 'appened to _ton petite Darienne_." He said quietly, "I came to see you as soon as I could." He looked the Celtic nation over, his eyes starting to well up already, "_Je suis désolé pour ne pas venir plus tôt_." Scotland blinked heavily,

"Th...tha's no'...your fault." He wheezed. France hushed him before the Scot could say any more,

"Please, _mon cher_, save your strength." He soothed, "I am just glad to know that you are still 'ere." The blonde nation frowned as he looked Scotland over, it was very clear that the other man was very ill, though just how long he'd been this bad... France sighed again; he was going to have to get England involved. He made a slight face at the idea; England was still the enemy to him after all, but on the other hand he was still Scotland's brother and the only other nation that was even capable of helping. France gripped at Scotland's shoulder as he stood again,

"I'm going to get you some blankets before you freeze, _mon cher_, then I'm going to see if I can contact Angleterre." There was a slight cough from behind him,

"No need." England said quietly as he came into the room, "I got word from Portugal about what happened." He explained when France turned around and gave the fledgling empire a confused look. Portugal sighed as he followed in after his 'husband',

"Inglaterra rushed over here as soon as I told him." He added, "But I'm not sure I understand what is going on." He said. France sighed,

"We will tell you later Portugal," he said, "in the meantime Ecosse needs to be moved to a bed of some sort. It is too cold to let 'im stay where 'e is." He pointed out. England crouched next to the chair and frowned as he looked his brother over,

"You are a proper idiot." He told the Celtic nation, who merely sent him a weak glare in response, but before Scotland could gather the breath to say anything England had already put his hand up to stop him, "Save your breath, you need it way more than any of those old insults do." He gave his brother a more concerned look, "I admit, however, that I'm surprised to see things went downhill so fast." He noted. Scotland merely averted his glare to the floor instead. England sighed again and got up,

"Port, be a love and grab the blankets from upstairs will you? Scotland's room is the second on the right." He asked the Iberian nation, who merely nodded and left the room immediately. France looked to England with confusion,

"Why are you bringing the blankets down 'ere?" he asked, looking over to Scotland, who was watching the scene unfold with his eyes only half open. England snorted dismissively,

"Because, France, we can't move Scotland by ourselves and it would be foolish to try with the state he's in anyway." He replied, his tone patronising. France scowled at the British nation,

"And 'ow do you propose we make Ecosse comfortable in a chair?" he asked, "'E needs to be in bed." He retorted. England snorted again,

"We'll make do for now. The first priority is to keep the git warm and make sure he doesn't get any worse." Right on cue Portugal arrived back in the lounge with several heavy blankets and a duvet rolled up in his arms,

"I brought everything with me, it is better to be safe than sorry, _sim_?" he said as he handed England the duvet first. England beamed at the dark haired nation,

"Thank you Gabriel, the duvet will be a great help." He said, taking the heavy item and turning back to his brother, who was looking as indignant as he could given his situation,

"I'm...n...no a...fuckin'... invalid." He finally managed to choke out. England rolled his eyes,

"What did I say about saving your breath you moron?" he chastised, "And you look plenty like an invalid to me right about now, so you can just sit there and kindly keep your mouth shut." He added, giving the Celtic nation a hard stare. France was over at Scotland's side at that moment,

"Ecosse, I 'ate to admit it, but Angleterre is right. You need to save your strength for now." he soothed, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his love's face. Scotland sighed, or at least tried to. He only succeeded in giving himself a hacking cough instead. England rolled his eyes again as he tucked the duvet securely around his brother,

"Try not to do anything too stupid will you? I honestly don't need you getting worse." Scotland sent his brother a half hearted glare as his coughing fit subsided,

"Wh...why d...d'ye even...care?" he choked. England paused in taking the other blankets from Portugal and stared at Scotland with a mixture of disappointment, and confusion,

"I might sincerely dislike you at times, Scotland, but that doesn't mean I hate you enough to want you dead." He replied quietly. Scotland stared up at his brother as the empire shifted his stance a little as he turned to face his brother properly, "Besides, even though we fight pretty much all the time, you're still family and I can't just sit back and do nothing at a time like this." England, although facing his brother, was not even looking at him, preferring to stare into the middle distance to the left of the older nation, face pinched into a frown of regret. Scotland watched England closely, working one of his hands free from the duvet,

""O...oi... d... dinnae... get...a' saft... on me noo." He wheezed with a breathy chuckle, brushing England's arm with his freed hand, "I've n...nae...intention o'...o'... carkin' it... j... jus' yet." He assured the younger nation turned empire. England glanced at his brother in surprise; it wasn't often that Scotland displayed any kind of brotherly affection. He smiled down at Scotland,

"You'd better not you git. I mean I do like a decent challenge in a fight, the Frog's way too weak these days." France scowled at England, but didn't say anything as Scotland smirked,

"Th... tha' would be... the... ither... r...reason f...fer stayin'." He retorted. France looked at Scotland in surprise. He'd honestly thought that the Celtic nation was long past keeping tabs on him. England snorted,

"Alright... that too." He grumbled. He quickly tucked the blankets around Scotland on top of the duvet, "Now get some sleep while we try to get this fire going." He told the Celtic nation, leaving no room for argument. Scotland managed a sigh this time and merely shrugged heavily. France arranged a cushion he'd found at the Scot's head and ran his hand through Scotland hair as the other nation drifted off. Portugal, who had stayed silent throughout England and Scotland's bonding session, wrapped an arm around his husband's waist,

"Very well handled Inglaterra." He said quietly. England sighed as he leaned into the embrace,

"I just wish it didn't have to come to this." He muttered. France, who had finally gotten up to see to the fire, glared at England,

"You do realise, Angleterre, that this is entirely your fault?" he snipped. Portugal gave England a worried look as, instead of tensing and giving France what for, he slumped a little,

"I know." He muttered guiltily, "But what else could I do France? I've been at peace with Spain for ages now, I really didn't want to risk it." France continued scowling at the British nation,

"If you 'ad just allowed Ecosse to trade with your colonies then this would never 'ave 'appened." He retorted. Portugal gripped England's shoulders in a comforting manner as the blonde nation returned the glare,

"I didn't have a choice in that matter." He hissed, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake Scotland up, "My government refused to allow it." France sighed in irritation as he looked back over to Scotland. Finally the French nation's shoulders slumped in resignation,

"I know, I'm sorry. I should not 'ave lost my temper." He said, "I am just worried for Ecosse..." he trailed off, looking quite unhappy. England followed France's gaze and nodded wearily,

"We both are, as are Wales and Ireland, but they don't even know how bad it really is, though I suspect that they've got a vague idea." He agreed. France went over to the fireplace and placed some fresh wood and kindling into it,

"I suppose the only thing we can do is wait it out." He muttered. England nodded,

"Unfortunately, that's all we can do." He sighed, taking Portugal's hand for comfort, "I'm sure that a Union is definitely a possibility now, I don't think the Scottish government can hold things together if Scotland's health is anything to go by." France hummed as he tried to strike a match to get the kindling lit, smiling faintly as a flame finally took,

"We can only 'ope that, whatever 'appens, it will be for the best." The blonde nation gazed at the kindling for a moment before placing it amongst the firewood and watching the fire finally splutter into life. England could not think of any reply to that, remaining silent as Portugal lead him to the sofa to sit and France went straight back to Scotland's side. The only thing he could think was,

"_That's even assuming Scotland's even going to be around after it's all over."_ The British nation sighed as he leaned against Portugal and watched his brother being fussed over by France. He shook his head; there was no point in worrying about that just yet, there would be time to worry about it once Scotland got over his flu.


End file.
